


knew you'd be here tonight

by WhyWouldIEver



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Nebulous Timelines and/or Universes, No Condoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyWouldIEver/pseuds/WhyWouldIEver
Summary: That first time had been nothing more than adrenaline after they’d had a run-in with some O’Driscolls that ended with John falling into a rushing river. Arthur had fished him outta the water all wild-eyed and then killed every remaining O’Driscoll in sight. What happened after was a spur of the moment decision that wasn’t really much of a decision at all. But everything since then has beendeliberate.John and Arthur spend some time together out in the wilderness.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	knew you'd be here tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Setting is vaguely canonish but without the misery because I want happier times, what can I say? I'm a dork and like to joke that my PWPs are Morstonvision (even though it's missing the Vision side of the pun name in WandaVision.......whatev). My own little worlds where things are happier because reality was tragedy and pain and I _do not see it_. 
> 
> So enjoy! 😂

John’s sitting in front of the campfire after his shift on guard duty slowly making his way through his second beer of the evening after he tossed the first one back in less than five minutes. He wants a pleasant buzz, not to get so drunk he can’t walk straight, so he takes a sip while Bill rambles on angrily with another one of his tales that make no sense to anyone but himself. His eyes wander around the campfire, passing over Javier plucking away at his guitar quiet enough it doesn’t drown out Bill’s story, as much as everyone would appreciate it. Lenny’s reading a book, absorbed so deep he don’t even seem aware of what’s going on around him. John locks eyes with Arthur over the fire, who quirks an eyebrow and then darts a quick glance at Bill and back to John with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He mimics John when he lifts his beer to take another sip and then turns his attention back to pretending like he’s listening to a word Bill’s saying.

John keeps staring at him though, and he can tell that Arthur can feel his eyes on him, but he doesn’t bother turning away. Ain’t no point when Arthur’s all he wants to look at most of the time anyway. 

Arthur lets him too, is the thing. Sometimes when John stares too much he gets ornery, barks an insult at John or tells him to go find somethin’ to do. But right now he sits there and lets John look his fill. Every now and then he’ll lift his beer bottle to his lips and let John see the tiny peek of his tongue against the rim before he takes a drink. He removes his hat at one point and sets it on his knee, his hair longer than he usually keeps it brushing against his cheekbone in the breeze. He lifts a hand and tucks it behind his ear then glides the tip of a finger along his jawline on the way back down. John feels like he’s been punched in the chest when he realizes that this is Arthur _encouraging John to look_. Right here around the fire surrounded by half of the rest of the gang.

At a brief pause in another one of Bill’s stories, Arthur interjects like he’s gotta force his way in before Bill starts up again. “Well, I’m off.” He rises to his feet and pats Hosea on the shoulder as he passes behind him. “Saw a lake nearby with some good fishin’ the other day. Figure I’ll head out now and camp overnight so I can catch some in the morning.”

He walks over to his wagon and John stares after him the entire time, disappointment gnawing along his bones when Arthur never even looks his way. After a few minutes gathering whatever supplies he needs, Arthur drops the canopy the way he does when he wants to have a little privacy. Then a few minutes later he pulls it open again and wanders over to his horse, saddles up, and rides out of camp haloed by the sunset.

John finishes the last of his beer and stands to grab a third after all, to hell with a pleasant buzz. 

He’s into his fourth beer and thinkin’ about his fifth about an hour later when he has a flash of a half-drunken thought. He darts his eyes around the few people still sitting around the fire and then rises to his feet without a word. 

  


* * *

  


He ain’t got a clue where this lake might be, but John’s learned enough about tracking over the years that he thinks he’s on the right trail that will lead him to Arthur. The newest horse tracks on the path turn North, so that’s where he leads Old Boy when he first breaks through camp. 

By the time the tracks turn off the road, the alcohol has diminished back to a warm, pleasant buzz. It gets a bit harder to see and John strains his eyes in the weak light of the moon for the trail of trampled grass and wildflowers that he follows up and over a few hills. He leads Old Boy into the darker recesses of some nearby trees, his eyes stuck on the ground looking for the trail and anything they might trip over. 

He’s got half a mind to turn back the further he goes, worried he’s completely missed the mark and is just gonna get himself good and lost. But almost as soon as he has the thought, Old Boy walks into a glade lit in the middle by a lone fire. 

Arthur sits there smoking like he ain’t got a care in the world, a beer set on the flattened grass next to his knee alongside his discarded hat and holster. 

John guides Old Boy closer and then dismounts next to Boadicea, leaving Old Boy behind with a quick pat and a carrot for a job well done.

Arthur’s watching him as he approaches. “Took you long enough, Marston,” he smirks and lifts his beer to his lips for a drink.

“I thought you was headed to a lake?” 

Arthur stares at him like he’s a bit of a fool, and John supposes he is because it takes him another few seconds to catch on that he was definitely _meant_ to follow Arthur out here tonight and then he wonders if there was even a lake at all. But he won’t admit to any of that, even though Arthur probably knows with the way he always seems to read John like he’s nothing more than a kid’s comic book. _Little Johnny Marston the Man Without a Brain_. Instead, he sits down and catches the bottle of beer Arthur tosses his way. 

They sit there in silence for a while, nothing but the breeze and the occasional sounds of animals in the trees that surround them. Even their horses are quiet like there’s a mood not to be broken.

_This_ part is what's always awkward to John every goddamn time. It all started a while back now, but that first time had been nothing more than adrenaline after they’d had a run-in with some O’Driscolls that ended with John falling into a rushing river. Arthur had fished him outta the water all wild-eyed and then killed every remaining O’Driscoll in sight. Everything after was a spur of the moment decision that wasn’t really much of a decision at all, rough kisses and messy hand jobs without a second thought about the bodies surrounding them. But everything since then has been _deliberate_. It ain’t like he’s a blushing virgin, or like he hasn’t fucked Arthur and been fucked _by_ Arthur in all that time between then and now. But it’s the step from nothing to something that sets John’s nerves off like he’s standing on a box with a rope around his neck just waiting for it to be kicked out from under him. Which he’s more than aware is dumb as rocks to think because it ain’t like either of ‘em is unaware what they’re here for so why he feels awkward is anyone’s guess.

It’s Arthur who breaks the silent stand-off this time. He climbs up and walks over on his knees the few steps it takes to sit down next to John. Then as demanding as ever, he grabs John by the front of his shirt and yanks him into a kiss. 

John grunts when their teeth click together, a brief shock of pain that disappears without a thought when all his focus is on the way Arthur adjusts _just so_ to fix the angle and then licks his way between John’s lips. He uses his grip on John’s shirt to steer the kiss exactly how he wants it, pushing John back when he needs to catch his breath and holding him off with a teasing grin when John tries to lean back in. He finally gives in when John scowls, like that was all the reaction he was waiting for just because he can’t help but be a little bit of an asshole after all this time, and he reels John back in.

It’s ages yet before things move along from there. John’s lips are tingling and his face feels a little raw from Arthur’s beard when Arthur tips backwards into the grass, pulling John along so he’s hovering over him. But then he stops. He lets go of John’s shirt and slowly slides his hand around his shoulder then up into his hair. John just stares down into his eyes for a few moments like he’s waiting for directions until Arthur’s hand clenches in his hair. 

“Marston.” His eyes dart away from John’s face and it’s _that_. That little tell says how Arthur wants this to go.

John groans loud in the air. He has half a thought to tease Arthur first and make him wait for what he wants. But there’s an urgency tingling along John’s skin to kiss and touch, to get Arthur underneath him and fuck him ‘til they’re both gasping for breath and John can barely hold himself up anymore. So he leans down and takes what he wants too, only pulls back for a breath after a while with a startled jerk when Arthur runs a few knuckles down his cheek.

He stares down at Arthur beneath him, his eyes ticking over his face, on the way his cheeks are already all pretty and flushed, his eyes bright and reflecting the orange flames of the fire. He’s already breathing hard like he’s run a mile when all he’s done is been kissed by John. John smirks but says nothing, just leans back down and kisses him some more until he’s lost track of time and his lips are all but numb.

“You gonna get a move on?” Arthur asks when he’s pulled back again a good while later. But he contradicts his own question when he drags John down for another kiss instead.

“Yeah, yeah,” John mumbles against his lips and shifts lower to lick a long, wet trail up the length of Arthur’s neck to the tip of his chin then blows a breath of air against it just to see Arthur shiver.

“Cute,” Arthur mutters and rolls his eyes when John grins all pleased with himself.

John dips lower after that, taking his time as he presses kisses into the thin, sensitive skin on Arthur’s throat and tries to burrow his way under the collar of Arthur’s shirt with the tip of his nose. It’s hopeless though, the shirt nothing but a hindrance blocking what’s underneath so John sits up instead. He hesitates, his eyes flicking up to meet Arthur’s for a brief moment. But he’s on point right now, he ain’t gotta ask permission for every little thing when _permission_ was given with a simple utterance of his name. He smooths the palm of his hand down the line of buttons on Arthur’s shirt as a tell anyway, wordless intent in the gesture, and tugs the bottom of Arthur’s shirt free from the waist of his jeans then reaches up to Arthur’s collar and starts undoing one button after another all the way to the bottom.

His breath stutters in his chest when he parts the two sides of Arthur’s shirt, his brain freezing like a telegram stuck on _stop_. Where he expects the cumbersome obstacle of Arthur’s union suit he sees only skin. He flicks his eyes up to Arthur in surprise, his lips parting and about to ask _when_ Arthur decided going without but then he has a brief flash of memory. _Arthur dropping the canopy over his wagon for a little privacy only to pull it back open a couple minutes later._ He grins at Arthur at the revelation.

“What?” Arthur asks warily.

“Is that why you closed the canopy?” He taps on the bare skin of Arthur’s chest with a fingertip.

Arthur sighs with an exasperated roll of his eyes that just makes John grin wider. “Were you watchin’ me the whole damn time?” he mutters and sits up, yanking his suspenders off his shoulders and tossing aside his shirt.

“Yes.”

Arthur huffs, maybe annoyed but probably just a little embarrassed if John was to throw a wager on the table, and he yanks John down for a kiss to shut him up. John is only too happy to get lost in it again for a while but can’t help smiling against Arthur’s lips.

Arthur shoves him away. “Just get on with it, Marston. Jesus. Smug don’t suit you, you just look constipated.”

John retaliates for _that_ by twisting one of Arthur’s nipples, laughing when Arthur hisses in pain and swats at his hand. But he leans down and places a kiss over it to soothe the hurt that’s probably already faded anyway and sighs when Arthur slips a hand back in his hair, his fingers scratching through roughly.

John continues on from there, kissing his way down Arthur’s chest to the waist of his jeans. He cups his hand around the bulge trapped beneath rough denim, nudges his nose in, and hums quietly to himself. He glances up when Arthur’s thumb brushes against the high of his cheekbone, then shuts his eyes and presses his nose in deeper to the hard outline of Arthur’s cock where it’s straining against the buttons, inhaling a deep breath to calm himself before carrying on.

He pops the buttons free one by one, going slow so he can watch the reveal even as it's cloaked in shadow from the firelight dancing along Arthur’s hips. But as soon as the last button is opened he wastes no time on teasing either of them, just gets his hand inside and pulls Arthur’s cock out into the open air, his hold on him only enough to keep him steady. He leans in again with his nose nestled in tight at the base, breathing in the smell of him. 

If asked, John’d never be able to say why he likes it, just that he _does_. The first time he’d done it his cheeks had gone hot with a blush when he realized what he was doing and he’d glanced up to look at Arthur sheepishly. But Arthur had only stared back, his eyes as dark as John had ever seen them, and tilted his hips up tighter against John’s face, held him close with a hand to the back of John’s neck. 

John groans when he does the same now and he presses a crooked line of kisses up the length then licks over and around the head with a sly twist of his tongue to dip right under the edge of Arthur’s foreskin, letting the weight of Arthur’s cockhead rest right there on his tongue before sealing his lips around and releasing with a sucking kiss.

Arthur _hmmms_ and John would never admit to the way his heart pounds in his chest when he hears it, how he has to reach down to adjust himself in his jeans. He takes his time after that, working his hand on all that he can’t fit in his mouth, sucking rhythmically on the head. He stops here and there to catch his breath, pressing more kisses to skin just to feel the way Arthur’s fingers move in his hair like approval. 

John grunts when Arthur’s hips thrust deeper on an involuntary instinct and he glances up to see Arthur’s eyes fixed on his mouth, his chest rising and falling with ragged breath. John pulls off and sucks a wet kiss right to the underside of the head of his cock, humming a tiny laugh when Arthur’s eyes flutter shut and back open again like he can’t bear to look away.

John keeps going until Arthur’s grip in his hair tightens. He’s merciful and lets himself be tugged away but then strokes his hand along Arthur’s cock a few times just to see the way his muscles tense up tight all overwhelmed. He smirks when he meets Arthur’s glare and sits up on his knees between the splay of his legs. Then he grabs ahold of Arthur’s leg by the underside of his knee and bends it so he can reach his boot, pulling each off one right after the other. He tosses them away without a care where they end up and leans over to yank Arthur’s jeans past his hips and then all the way off.

Once he’s got Arthur fully undressed, John just sits there between his legs, staring at all the skin that’s his to touch, and lays down on top of Arthur for another kiss. He’s panting hard into it and starts rutting his hips between Arthur’s legs, nudging his own trapped cock against Arthur’s and chasing the ache of relief after ignoring his own need for so long. He’s just taken Arthur’s bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw on thoughtlessly when Arthur shoves him away. 

“You come in your pants and I ain’t touchin’ you for a month.”

For the flash of a gunshot, John longs to ignore him and thrust against him the handful of times it would take until he’d be right there ready to shoot his load in a mess in his pants, even knowing that Arthur would never let him live it down. But he also wants to _fuck Arthur._ Wants to make it good for him too. So he stills his hips with a helpless laugh, bites Arthur’s chin in retaliation, and sits back up on his heels instead.

He runs his hands along Arthur’s hips and down across the crease of his thighs, watching while Arthur grabs for his satchel and digs around inside until he finds what he’s looking for. John stares down at the jar of slick held out in Arthur’s palm like a confused idiot, his mind going over and over on one thought like a gramophone stuck in a groove because it’s the kind of stuff that ain’t easy to come by just anywhere. Meaning Arthur went hunting for it, probably in the last big town they rode through _weeks ago_ and he’s been carrying it around since then waiting for this. That thought spurs John on. He licks his lips and swallows with a click in his throat, grabs the jar, and pats the inside of one of Arthur’s thighs. Arthur lifts his legs so his feet are flat on the grass, his knees bent up, and spreads wider so there’s more room for John in-between.

John opens the jar, dips two fingers inside, and works on preparing Arthur the way they learned how on each other, stretching him around his fingers with enough slick easing the way. 

And Arthur is always so quiet during this part. Like he’s gotta focus all his attention on the way it feels, his eyebrows dipped low, his eyes shut tight like he’s never quite sure if he likes it or not. The first time, John had pulled his fingers free ready to apologize thinkin’ he was doin’ it all wrong, but Arthur made a guttural noise of disapproval and murmured a confused, “ _The hell you stop for?_ ” in a voice John would never admit out loud had sounded almost _needy_. So he licked his lips with a shake of his head and feigned like he’d only stopped to add a little more slick to his fingers. 

Now he knows better and he likes to keep _going going going_ for as long as he can get away with, teasing Arthur with his fingers even though his own cock practically screams at him the entire time. But he likes to wait, likes to push it until Arthur’s so hungry he says it.

“Christ’s sake, John. Get on with it.”

John grins and pulls his fingers free, hurrying to fumble open his jeans and unbutton his union suit. He hisses through his teeth at the shock of momentary relief when he takes himself in hand then moves to grab for the abandoned jar of slick with his other but Arthur’s already reached for it himself. He dips two fingers inside and smears some across his palm then bats John’s hand out of the way. He squeezes his hand along the length, twisting just right and John leans over him helplessly, panting hard along his cheek until Arthur releases him with another clever twist of his hand.

John wastes no time once they’re both ready. He gets his knees underneath Arthur’s thighs and starts the long push inside. It’s almost too much for him sometimes. Already so on edge, his hips want to thrust fast, pure instinct driving him to chase after the tight heat and take what he wants. But he goes slow, wants to make it good for Arthur too even with his head screaming at him about how _close_ he is. It feels like seconds and hours all at once and then he groans when he’s inside as deep as he can get. He holds there, watching and waiting for a little of the tension to leave Arthur’s shoulders, the scowl on his face to lessen as he acclimates to the always-strange feeling of being full.

John had been the one to take Arthur the first few times. On his back, on his knees, even once pushed over the back of a wagon with Arthur thrusting into him from behind, leaning over John and whispering things in his ear that’d had John’s toes curling in his boots. He’d been more than happy to take anything Arthur was willing to give him. It was Arthur who’d pushed him to the ground and climbed on top one night. He got John pinned down and fingered himself open with one hand, held John to the dirt with the other, and then he’d fucked himself on John’s cock, rode him hard until John had come in his ass. As soon as he finished, Arthur had shifted up the length of John’s body and jerked himself off, muttering, “ _In your mouth, John._ ” 

John swears he can still hear the rough desperation echoing in his head, everything else hollowed out completely. He’s broken out of his reverie by Arthur’s voice _now_ when he murmurs a quiet, “Move, John,” and that’s every bit as good. 

He pulls his hips back until only the head is holding Arthur’s hole open, his breath stuttering at the sight, always hungry with some warped sort of primal satisfaction. His push back inside is slow, a tease for both of them and he does the same move again and again until he feels the slight relaxation of Arthur’s tight grip around him and picks up the pace. He alters the rhythm of his hips, the slap of what should be his skin against the backs of Arthur’s thighs muffled and he realizes he’s not even naked, had only got his goddamn buttons open and his cock out before Arthur distracted him with his hand. He laughs desperately and opens his eyes that he doesn’t even remember closing.

“The hell are you laughin’ for?” Arthur growls and clenches down around John’s cock.

John groans hard it feels so goddamn good, but he leans down and kisses Arthur in something like an apology. “Didn’t even get my clothes off,” he mumbles against his lips and laughs when he sees the little light of amused realization spark in Arthur’s eyes. He hums and hovers there over Arthur when Arthur brings his arms up and around his waist, bunching his fingers in the back of John’s shirt and lifting it higher to get at his skin that he can’t even reach because John’s still got his damn union suit on underneath too.

“Jesus.” Arthur huffs a small laugh and then tucks some of John’s hair behind his ear where it was tickling along his cheek.

John groans and rises back up to sit on his heels, gets his hands under Arthur’s thighs, and shoves them up to his chest. He grabs ahold of his ankles and lifts them to rest on his shoulders to switch up the angle and then he really starts fucking Arthur’s ass. Fast, short strokes, and he moans when Arthur’s eyes slam shut. He digs the toes of his boots into the earth for leverage, his hips pistoning hard knowing full well that Arthur _loves_ _it_ but that it’ll soon get too overwhelming. So he ignores his own racing heart, the ache building in his gut, and focuses on the way Arthur’s cock bounces with each thrust of his hips. On the puddle of pre-come dripping free that actually makes John’s mouth water, he’s so into it. Arthur’s muscles are clenching hard the entire time and when John glances up at his face his eyes are shut tight, scowl back on his face and his lower lip between his teeth. 

His fingers dig into the grass and dirt beneath him and his voice stutters on a groan. “ _John_.” 

As soon as he says it, John switches his pace to a slow crawl of his hips, ignoring the screaming urge to push in those last few strokes it would take to come. He thrusts deep and holds there for a moment then pulls almost all the way out and does it all over again, nice and slow each time. He runs the tip of a finger down the length of Arthur’s cock and Arthur’s body tenses hard, his muscles clenching up tight again and standing out in the firelight shining dully off his sweat-slick skin.

Then Arthur’s eyes open. He drops his legs from off John’s shoulders and tugs John down with a hand in his shirt, kisses him hard once before letting go. He slides his arms back around John’s body and then his hands are gripping tight into John’s ass under his jeans but over his godforsaken union suit and he pulls John in tight, keeping him held as deep inside Arthur’s ass as he seems capable and doesn’t let John pull free. 

It feels good buried deep in the heat of his body, Arthur clenching hard along his cock like he’s the one chasing something. John lifts his forehead from where he plonked it down hard, thoughtlessly lost in his own pleasure, and peers at Arthur through squinted eyes. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek now, his eyes shut again and scowling like he’s focused hard down the scope of a rifle.

Arthur grunts deep in his throat like it was a sound he couldn’t help and John realizes his cock must be rubbing at just the right angle inside of him, nudged up against that sensitive spot that makes _John_ feel like he’ll come forever when Arthur fucks him just right, the feeling all slow and blooming out from his belly to his legs until he thinks he might stop breathing. John licks his dry lips and hangs his head above Arthur’s shoulder, can see the tips of his hair brushing against Arthur’s collarbones out of the corner of his eyes but doesn’t think Arthur’s even aware of it at this point. 

He lifts his legs up a little higher around John’s waist and goes tense and quiet, sucks in a breath through his nose, and holds it in his lungs. That’s when John knows he’s close, the muscles in his body held rigid right on the precipice. John tips his hips up right on the top angle when he nudges his cock farther inside and a few strokes later Arthur’s breath stutters out all at once like he’s completely overwhelmed. John lifts just high enough he can look between their bodies to Arthur’s cock and he’s coming hard, his cock twitching with every pulse, a few shots up the length of his chest, and a slow release of so much _more_ pooling above the head of his cock.

Then his hands drop from John’s ass and he’s growling hard in John’s ear, “Move.” He’s panting hard through the tail end of his orgasm, staring down the length of his body to where John is fucking him, and that’s the last thing John sees for a while. His eyes slam shut and then he’s shoving in as deep as he can again and comes inside Arthur with a ragged groan. His toes tense up in his boots and he props himself up with one hand planted in the dirt next to Arthur’s ear, ripping up a clump of grass with a curl of his fingers. He hovers there, his cock still buried deep inside the soft heat of Arthur’s ass, his weight on his knees rather than bearing down on top of him while he catches his breath.

Arthur finally drops his legs from around his waist a few moments later and John gives him one last kiss then pulls out slowly, flips over to the side, and rolls onto his back alongside Arthur, the both of them still breathing hard.

A couple minutes later Arthur bats his hand around above his head sightlessly and yanks his satchel along the ground by the strap. He pulls out a rag and wipes himself down then hands it to John to give himself a cursory wipe down too. 

“God, you really planned everything, huh?”

Arthur snorts and takes the rag back from John’s extended hand. “Shut it,” he murmurs and tosses it on the fire to burn rather than keep it to clean later. “Anyway, you was practically fucking me over the fire back at camp. You ain’t got room to talk.” He sits up and gathers his clothes and boots then shimmies his way back to dressed right there.

John grins when he only has to tuck himself away but really, the joke’s on him because he’s drenched in sweat from fucking in two layers of clothes. 

As soon as they’re both dressed they share a couple cans of strawberries and peaches between them then have a post-sex smoke sprawled out on the grass side by side staring up at the stars above.

“You see that constellation right there?” Arthur asks some time later, his hand extended to the sky with his cigarette held between his fingers.

John stares like he can tell what Arthur’s pointing out. “Sure.”

“That right there is a horse.” Arthur keeps gesturing around while he points out the shape of the stars. “And that right there?” He swings his hand down. “That’s the horse’s hoof stomping on Micah’s head.”

John snorts and takes a drag of his cigarette but doesn’t egg Arthur on. No use ruining a good mood with another rant on Micah Bell and his many, _many_ fuck-ups. He drags every bit of tobacco he can get out of his cigarette then tosses it aside.

“You stayin’?” Arthur asks. He pulls over the bedroll he never bothered unfurling and uses it as a pillow instead.

“Yeah.” John shifts around fully intent on falling asleep right there but then a thought occurs to him. “Was there even a lake?”

Arthur scoffs. “Course there’s a lake. Who do you take me for?” Then the conversation devolves into who can catch the most fish the next day with bets placed and all. 

John don’t even like fishing, but he’ll do it if it’s with Arthur by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> John likes fishing in the RDR2 epilogue, btw. But let's just go with the idea that he learns to enjoy it because of Arthur. LMAO This idea brought to you by my last second realization that the very last sentence of this story is technically not accurate and I'm the kind of person that goes, "OH NOOO!" But I didn't wanna change it. 👍🏻😂
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I've got a Sadiegail story I wanted to write for someone nearly done so hopefully I can post that soon. We shall see! But the next thing I'm really working on is a Formula 1 modern Morston AU of all things. So keep an eye out for that if you're interested. Rivals to lovers driving fast cars recklessly, what's not to love?
> 
> Thank you for reading! 💖


End file.
